There was a demon under my bed.
It whispered my secrets. Knew the wounds that bled.
It reminded me every night of all I’ve done wrong.
A constant, unrelenting punishment song.
There was a demon under my bed.
It whispered my insecurities and all the terrible things I’ve said.
It reminded me I had no worth and didn’t deserve love.
I was sure it was right. The notion fit like a glove.
There was a demon under my bed.
I was too scared to look. It took over my head.
Then, one day, a kind stranger came along.
He listened, so I trusted him with my punishment song.
The stranger then asked if I’d ever taken a look?
This terrified me. I replied, “No,” as I shook.
The stranger proposed, “Let’s look together. I’ll hold your hand.”
Still shaking, I agreed, and we both took a stand.
I can’t tell you the shock of what I could see.
When I looked at the demon and the demon was me.
The stranger prompted me to ask, “What do you need?”
The demon looked hopeful. I’d planted a seed.
The kind stranger had known all along that I was the composer of my punishment song.
With compassion, the demon and I worked together.
Slowly, but surely, we started to get better.
She whispers to me all the things I’ve done right.
She reminds me to be kind and hold myself tight.
She sings me a song of how precious I am.
She regulates my nervous system and helps me stay calm.
She tells me I’m worthy of the best things in life.
Her words no longer cut like a knife.
There was a demon under my bed.
Now I just call her my best friend.
By Natalie Chapman
Counsellor & Psychotherapist